


Aftermath

by forthwrite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Just after the Battle of Hogwarts, PTSD, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1620053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthwrite/pseuds/forthwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His wand was suddenly in his hand, directed at her chest.   </p><p>'Put the wand down, Ginny,' he heard himself say, distantly.</p><p>Or, how I envision various HP characters dealing with PTSD after the Battle of Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR
> 
> Just a quick look at what Harry with PTSD might look like just after he kills Voldemort.

He was sitting in the living room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, nursing a cup of tea. The tea had gone cold hours ago, but he didn't feel like getting up to make himself a new cup. He hadn't felt like doing much of anything, in fact, since the Battle of Hogwarts ended four days ago.

  
'Harry?' he heard a voice call.

  
He jolted in surprise, because the voice sounded like Fred's.

  
Except Fred was dead.

  
The cup of tea shook in his hands, spilling down his shirt, a large brown patch staining the soft fabric. He couldn't bring himself to care though. No one else was around right now, and he didn't need to look like the Chosen One.

  
'I'm sorry, Harry,' Ginny was saying as she walked through his Floo. 'I didn't mean to startle you. Let me clean that up and then we'll head to the Burrow for dinner. Mum's waiting for you.' She pointed her wand at his sweater. ' _Episk_ -'

  
His wand was suddenly in his hand, directed at her chest.

  
'Put the wand down, Ginny,' he heard himself say, distantly.

  
Ginny slowly placed the wand on the table and raised her hands, palms out.

  
‘It’s okay, Harry. See, I’ve put the wand down. It’s okay.’ She spoke softly, her voice calm and steady despite having the Savior of the Wizarding World pointing his wand at her.

Harry was breathing hard, his hands shaking, and finally lowered his wand hand. He sat down, on the couch, not looking at her.

‘Harry?’ Ginny asked. Her voice was soft, but determined. 'Can you tell me what happened?'

He grunted. How was he supposed to explain?

  
'Harry? Can you talk to me, please? You've been moping around, and almost no one's seen you since the Battle ended. And what happened just now, with the wand, it's not like you. I want to help you, so please talk to me.'

  
He stayed silent for a moment. He wanted to tell her, knew that she wouldn't ridicule him, or run to the press with all of his secrets. But he was scared to admit it, to say it aloud. It seemed so _final_.

  
'Harry, please tell me.'

  
It was her calm voice that did it. She didn't seem scared of him, even though he had just held her at wandpoint. If he had been in her position, he would've gone mad. And somehow, she sounded so calm, so rational. So receptive and non-judgmental.

  
'I . . . I don't like it when wands are pointed at me,' he said finally.

  
'I could tell,' she said. 'Most people don't. But unless they're in a duel, most people also don't react like that. Can you tell me why you did?'

  
 _Because the last time someone cast a spell on me, I died_. He couldn't force the words out, though. They were stuck, nestled deep within his heart.

  
He shook his head. 'I want to, but I just can't,' he whispered.

  
'Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to the Burrow for dinner tonight, just like we planned. Tomorrow, I think you should go talk to Professor Dumbledore's portrait about everything that's happened. Do you think you could do that?'

  
He looked at her, and wanted to nod his head, to make her feel better, but couldn't. It seemed too much, to speak to Dumbledore, after everything that Dumbledore manipulated him into doing this last year. After dying.

  
'Would it help if I came with you?' she asked.

  
'I . . . I don't know.'

  
'Would you rather talk to someone else?'

  
He hesitated, but nodded.

  
'I'm going to list some people, and you just nod when you think I've mentioned someone you feel comfortable talking to, okay?'

  
He nodded.

  
'Great!' She smiled at him, a hesitant smile, but it made him feel a bit warmer, a bit more human.

  
'Hermione. Ron. Professor McGonagall. Hagrid. Mum. Kingsley.'

  
He nodded at the last name.

  
'You're willing to talk to Kingsley?'

  
'Yeah,' he said quietly. Kingsley was an Auror, someone who'd fought, someone who'd been in almost as many battles as he himself had been. He felt like Kingsley would be able to relate, if he said he was scared of fighting again, or scared of losing even more friends.

  
'That's good, Harry. I'll Floo him tomorrow morning, okay?'

  
He nodded.

  
'Would you like me to come with you?'

  
He hesitated, and then nodded again.

  
'Are you doing better now?'

  
He nodded.

  
'Can we stay here tonight?' he asked quietly. 'I know you wanted to go see everyone, but I don't think I could manage the crowd right now.' Really, he didn't mind the crowd, the people, everyone staring at him. He was used to that by now.

  
But some people weren't going to be there, like Fred, and Remus, and Tonks. Snape. The thought of going to dinner, knowing that they weren't going, that they _couldn't_ go, made him feel guilty all over again.

  
'That's fine. I'll go Floo Mum, and I'm sure she'll Floo over some food.'

  
She got up off the couch, and headed to the fireplace.

  
'Ginny,' he said.

  
She turned to look at him. 'Yes, Harry?'

  
'I just wanted to say thanks, for listening to me, for staying with me. Just, thanks.'

  
She smiled, her face lighting up. 'Your welcome.'

  
A few minutes later, Ginny came back. She sat next to him, and placed her head on his shoulder. He leaned into the touch. With her next to him, he felt warm and safe for the first time since the war ended.

Fin.


	2. Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is how I envision Hermione's PTSD.   
> Neville will probably be next.

“Hermione, you can do it,” Ron whispered to Hermione as he stroked soothing circles down her back.

  
“I – I don’t know if I can.”

  
“We’re just going to go into Eyelops’, and buy some mice for Crookshanks to torture. I know that you’ll have some trouble dealing with all of the people. But I also know you can do it. If you’re up to it, we’ll even stop by at Flourish and Blott’s afterwards, okay?”

  
Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded.

  
“I think I’m ready to go now.”

  
She clutched his hand tightly, and Apparated both of them to Diagon Alley.  
And then, suddenly, she stood outside of Eyelops’ Owl Emporium, hesitating. Ron stood beside her.

  
“Ready?” he asked.

  
She pushed open the heavy wooden doors of Eyelops, and hesitated for another moment before walking slowly into the store, Ron trailing after her.

  
Once she was just past the threshold, she cringed and stopped walking.

  
“I can’t do this.”

  
His hand starting stroking her arm, slow and soothing.

  
“Why not?”

  
She stared at the sheer chaos encompassed within the store’s four walls. Toads balefully croaked as they hopped between human legs. A large white owl swooped down from the ceiling and flew between the aisles, knocking down several products from the shelves. Harried, flustered clerks darted through the people, animals and aisles as they tried to help impatient customers.

  
“It’s too much,” she whispered.

  
“What’s too much, Hermione?”

  
“I can’t – I can’t keep track.”

  
Her eyes flitted to and fro, trying to track all of the movement, trying to sense all of the danger before it could hurt her.

  
Ever since Bellatrix had jumped her with a knife in Malfoy Manor before the Battle, her body’s flight instinct had gone into overdrive. Until she had a chance to analyze it, her body perceived movement as a potential threat. It was hard for her, now, to go out into public, to interact with people she didn’t know, in places she wasn’t fully familiar with.

  
It didn’t help that after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Daily Prophet had published a spread on all of the heroes of the Light side. Her picture, along with the pictures of all of her friends, had been prominently featured. Ever since then, she had often been stopped in public by people she didn’t know, all eager to question her about her role in the fight against Voldemort.

  
She didn’t like it, her celebrity status. She didn’t like that the day after she got a new haircut, the Daily Prophet ran a poll asking wizarding Britain to vote whether her current hairstyle was better than her former one. She didn’t like when the paparazzi cornered her for an interview, or when her obsessive fans begged for an autograph.

  
She was the subject of more than one ‘biography,’ horrible things that were exceptionally insensitive and inaccurate, especially because she refused to allow the authors to interview her. One particularly odious bestseller dared to trivialize the war, and made it into one of those vague obstacles that a tragic pair of star-crossed lovers – obviously based on Draco Malfoy and herself - had to overcome in order to be together. It was a sappy, cliché romance novel, with the heroine wearing a big, poofy, low-cut dress and the hero walking around shirtless the whole time. From personal experience, Hermione thought wearing a dress like that would be hopelessly impractical during a war, but from what she understood, romance heroes and heroines need to wear such outfits in order to be appropriately tragic. Needless to say, the novel was a best-seller, and every witch in Britain had read it.

  
She hadn’t, though.

  
The one good thing about the book was that Malfoy had been furious. She thought he was more upset that a character clearly based off of him had been pining after a Mudblood than he was about being stuck into a book without anyone asking him for permission. He made papers, yet again, when he announced that he wanted to sue the author for besmirching his name. The publishing house argued that because his name was not actually mentioned anywhere in the book or in any of the associated merchandise, they were not responsible for any unfortunate associations crazed fans made.

  
Malfoy probably loved the attention he was getting. She hated it.

  
She hated the fans that never left her alone. She hated being surrounded by unfamiliar people. She hated that her subconscious remained convinced that she was in danger. She hated that she felt so uncomfortable and scared and anxious whenever she left the Burrow.

  
She hated standing in Eyelops’ busy lobby, surrounded by pet-lovers and animals, feeling threatened. Lost. Alone.

  
“Can – can we go now?” she whispered, clutching Ron’s hand. It was her lifeline.

  
“Yeah. I guess you weren’t ready yet.”

  
She shrugged. She thought that had been pretty obvious.

  
“You were really brave, though, for trying, Hermione. But I’m going to take you home now, okay?”

  
She couldn’t answer, just barely managed to nod her head.

  
Ron Apparated them back, back to the Burrow. Back where she felt safe, or as safe as she ever felt now.

  
She didn’t think she’d be able to muster up the courage to leave again, at least not any time soon.

  
And she hated that more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are nice :)

**Author's Note:**

> reviews are nice :)


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